


fools in love

by ephemeralsky



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, M/M, unspecified time period because i make my own rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralsky/pseuds/ephemeralsky
Summary: “Short they may be,” Jean supplies, “but poor they most certainly are not.”“Tell me,” Neil prompts.“Twenty thousand a year, and they own half of Columbia.”Neil takes stock of their dull expressions, one twin’s countenance more impassive and unreadable than the other’s. “The boring half?”(or: A Pride and Prejudice AU, where both Neil and Andrew are onlyslightlyprejudiced and prideful)
Relationships: Background Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 50
Kudos: 178





	fools in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/188308310118/so-thats-our-infamous-mr-kevin-day-neil) as a one-shot. Heavy edits have been made since then.
> 
> The title of the fic is taken from the book and movie :) The title of this chapter is taken from the book.
> 
> No CW for this chapter, I think, but please let me know if you want me to add something.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse.

But there is another truth that is not so commonly acknowledged: a single man in possession of little fortune and no title just wants to live in peace without being badgered about finding such a spouse.

“So that’s our infamous Mr. Kevin Day?” Neil murmurs, low enough for only Katelyn and Jean to hear.

“Yes. I hear his fortune equals that of a king of a small country,” Katelyn replies, eyeing the group that just entered the ballroom as keenly as Neil is. “On his right is Mr. Nicholas Hemmick, I believe.”

“And the identical gentlemen who are flanking them?”

“They would be the Minyards, Mr. Hemmick’s cousins and Mr. Day’s closest companions.”

“Not very vertically endowed, are they?” Neil says, lips hitched into a tiny smirk.

From Neil’s other side, Jean clears his throat, a sign that he is suppressing a reaction at Neil’s words. Katelyn, possessing less inhibitory skills than Jean, reacts with an undignified snort, then quickly composes herself with a small cough.

“Short they may be,” Jean supplies, “but poor they most certainly are not.”

“Tell me,” Neil prompts.

“Twenty thousand a year, and they own half of Columbia.”

Neil takes stock of their dull expressions, one twin’s countenance more impassive and unreadable than the other’s. “The boring half?”

Katelyn clutches his arm as she chokes down her laughter. Jean shushes them as the group of regal peacocks passes by.

Neil bows his head in perfunctory greeting while Katelyn does a curtsy. When Neil raises his head, his gaze catches that of the more inscrutable Minyard twin like a hook.

Mr. Minyard glances away as soon as their eyes meet, proceeding towards the front of the room with his brother, his cousin, and Mr. Day.

Neil lets out a silent breath of laughter, all too amused by the appearance of the group in their humble little town in the countryside and by everybody’s insistence that he – and all the other bachelors and bachelorettes – make a good impression.

Foxhole Park is let at last – no one is quite sure if it was perpetrated by Mr. Day or one of the Minyard brothers – and there are rumors that they plan on staying there for an extended period of time.

Neil still doesn’t see why he needs to be dragged into any of it and be forced to play nice.

Couples return to the dance floor as the band resumes playing. The ball regains the momentum it lost at the arrival of their esteemed guests, and before Katelyn is whisked away into a cotillion by one of the men that had been eyeing her all evening, their father - Mr. Wymack - makes his way over to them. Matt is right behind him, bearing his signature grin, with Dan’s arm looped around his.

“Come with me,” Mr. Wymack says in his patented brusque tone. “I’ll introduce you to Mr. Day’s party.”

“I’ll be here,” Jean tells Neil, hands clasped behind his back.

To avoid getting separated, Neil holds Katelyn’s hand as they follow Mr. Wymack, Matt, and Dan through the crowd. They find Mr. Day secluded in one corner of the ballroom, the pale Minyard twins brooding quietly on either side of him. Mr. Hemmick, in stark contrast with the rest of his party, is beaming.

“Mr. Day, Mr. Hemmick,” Mr. Wymack says with a nod, “may I introduce you to my son Mr. Neil Josten and his sister Katelyn?” He gestures to Neil and Katelyn, who bow and curtsy respectively, then to Dan and Matt. “My eldest daughter Danielle and her husband Matthew you’ve met.”

“Yes,” Mr. Day says with a haughty sniff, “I have.”

“Good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd-Wilds,” Mr. Hemmick says cheerily.

“Neil, Katelyn –” Mr. Wymack glances at them before nodding at the twins – “Mr. Andrew Minyard and his brother, Mr. Aaron.”

The brothers display no reaction to this, and Neil and Katelyn are left to guess which twin is which.

“We have another sister – Robin – but she’s already dancing,” Dan supplies, waving her hand in the direction of the dance floor.

Neil is suddenly struck with envy for their youngest sister; dancing with a stranger is perhaps more bearable than being forced to be cordial with a band of snobs.

“How delightful to meet you,” Mr. Hemmick chirps, bouncing on his toes.

“Yes, it is certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Katelyn says, smiling amicably at Mr. Day’s party. One of the twins blinks out of his apathetic stupor and stares at her.

“Pardon?”

Katelyn’s smile turns a little amused. “I said it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh,” Mr. Minyard says, throat bobbing with a swallow, “yes. The pleasure is all mine.”

Neil shares a glance with Dan, and they both succeed in maintaining a straight face. 

Grasping Katelyn’s fingers, Neil whispers, “Get him to dance with you. He looks like he sorely needs a good dance partner.”

Katelyn ducks her head, smile widening. She gives Neil’s hand a light squeeze before she lets go and steps closer to Mr. Minyard, leading him away from the group.

“Mr. Minyard,” Neil hears her saying, before “Please, call me Aaron,” is chimed in.

Well, that’s one mystery solved.

While Matt engages Mr. Hemmick and Dan in a conversation regarding the curious weather they have been experiencing the past few days in Palmetto, Neil studies Mr. Andrew Minyard, who has remained unmoved this whole time, silent as a shadow.

Fueled by a modicum of politeness, Neil asks, “Do you dance, Mr. Minyard?”

Mr. Andrew shows no sign of having heard the question.

Mr. Day, who is standing nearby, answers in his stead. 

“He does not,” Mr. Day says briskly, without so much as a glance in Neil’s direction.

Neil opens his mouth, then closes it. He bites his lower lip, holding back a churlish remark. Shaking his head and deciding that it is not worth starting a fight over it, he departs from the group, wading through the crowd in search of Jean.

“Neil,” he says when he nears him, “I didn’t know you were coming to see me so soon.”

“I needed some company after Katelyn discarded me for one of our honorable London men.”

The ghost of a smile crosses Jean’s lips, mitigating the harsh effects of his perpetual frown. “No man can resist her charms.” His grey eyes scan the dance floor. “Oh, there she is.”

Neil turns to where Jean is looking and spots Katelyn dancing with Mr. Aaron. While her steps are graceful and effortless, his are stilted and rather clumsy. It doesn’t help that he keeps gazing at her instead of paying attention to where he is placing his feet.

“If he does not end up in love with her by the end of the evening, then I am a poor judge of beauty,” Neil says dryly.

“Or men,” Jean adds, even dryer.

“No, they are far too easy to judge,” Neil says with a little scrunch of his nose. “Humorless poppycocks, the whole lot of them.”

Jean lifts a mordant eyebrow. “Even me? And yourself?”

Neil answers with a shrug and a, “Perhaps.”

“Well,” Jean says, “I can’t say I disagree, but I do wonder if your judgment is clouded by the fact that you have no interest in men at all.”

Neil scoffs. “I have no interest in women either, but I don’t find most of them predictable and ridiculous as I do men.”

Jean flattens his lips, withholding a smile. “Then I’ll just say that you have impeccable judgment.”

“I know I do,” Neil says airily, flagging down a server for drinks.

They find some reprieve under the stairs that lead up to where the band is playing. Hidden from view and leisurely sipping at their punch, they trade comments regarding the people that pass their line of sight and discuss the merits and failings of the latest book they read. 

Neil had not had many opportunities to read as a child, but after being taken in by Mr. Wymack, that situation had been amended. He is now fortunate enough to be able to enjoy the leisure of reading and have a companion whose tastes are similar to his own.

“By the by,” Jean says after a while, “have you been informed of the impending arrival of the silk merchants from down south?”

“Yes,” Neil replies. “They are arriving in a fortnight, if I recall correctly. Apparently, their guild first thrived due to the contributions of their wealthy patroness.”

“I wonder how long they are planning to stay,” Jean murmurs in his native French, a distant look in his eyes. “It must be nice, having a profession and being able to travel when the job requires it.”

Neil, who has had some travel experience in the past, is capable of understanding the desire to roam the lands and be free to do so without any constraints and pursuers, but he also finds joy in having a place to put down his roots; a place to belong.

Still, he leans forward and bumps his forehead against Jean’s to comfort him.

“You’ll find what you are looking for,” Neil tells him in French. “I guarantee it.”

Jean’s listless eyes brighten a little. “I appreciate your conviction, _mon couer._ ”

“I have never seen so many pretty people in my life!”

Mr. Hemmick’s excited voice diverts their attention towards the scenery that can be seen through the slats of the stairs. Neil and Jean watch as Mr. Hemmick’s exclamation is met with a withering look from Mr. Aaron. “You say that at every ball we attend.”

Mr. Hemmick’s grin turns devious as he nudges his cousin. “Do you mean to say that Miss Katelyn is the only handsome person in the room?”

“I do not mean to say that,” Mr. Aaron sputters, his ears turning into a shade of scarlet. Beside him, Mr. Andrew continues to look detached while Mr. Day paints a sullen picture.

“Her brother Neil is also perfectly handsome,” Mr. Hemmick continues. “Don’t you agree, Andrew?”

Neil quirks an eyebrow at this, briefly darting a confused glance at Jean. Without answering Neil’s unspoken question, Jean brings his cup to his mouth, but Neil can see the small, amused smile flirting at the corner of his lips.

“He is barely tolerable,” Mr. Andrew replies finally, his voice colorless, “and not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Annoyance pricks Neil’s skin like a thousand needles. He doesn’t delude himself into thinking he is attractive, but hearing Mr. Andrew say something that rude about his appearance does tick him off.

“You should return to your partner and enjoy her smiles rather than waste your time with us,” Mr. Hemmick tells Mr. Aaron hastily, diffusing the awkwardness left by Mr. Andrew’s comment.

With his nose upturned, Mr. Day chimes in with, “I rather we leave as soon as we can.”

“Thank you for your valuable input, Kevin,” Mr. Aaron says with blatant sarcasm.

When their party moves on to a different part of the room, Jean pats Neil’s hand conciliatorily. “Count your blessings, Neil. If Mr. Andrew liked you, you would have to talk to him.”

Neil huffs out a humorless laugh. “Precisely. As it is, I wouldn’t dance with him for all of Columbia, let alone the boring half.”

It elicits a small chuckle out of Jean, and it is enough to abate Neil’s anger.

After finishing their drinks, Neil wheedles Jean into dancing with him. They exchange knowing looks when they notice Katelyn dancing another round with Mr. Aaron.

When Jean tires of dancing, Neil seeks out Robin and soon finds her chatting with the butcher’s daughter.

“Neil,” she says, “have you had your fair share of amusement for the evening?”

“Not as much as you have, I think,” he teases.

Robin blushes. “Oh, hush.”

They say their goodbyes to the butcher’s daughter and wind their way through the room before bumping into Mr. Wymack, Dan, Katelyn, Matt, and Mr. Day’s party. With an incline of her head, Dan instructs Neil and Robin to join in on the conversation, and they have no other choice but to obey. After all, they had promised their father and Dan to be on their best behavior – but that promise only extends until the end of the evening, and Neil can’t wait for it to be over. 

“I believe it was fate that brought me to my husband,” Mr. Hemmick is saying, a wistful sigh escaping his lips. “We met each other at a ball such as this one.”

“I’m afraid I met my husband under much more ordinary circumstances,” Dan says, grinning mischievously at Matt. “He almost ran into me with his horse.”

Mr. Hemmick gasps, eyes widening in shock and interest. “Oh my!”

“I did not,” Matt says fervently, but his face is filled with happiness at an opportunity to talk about his wife. “I had full control of my horse, thank you very much, and I thank him to this day for bringing me to the love of my life.”

Dan lightly swats his arm. “If you think this story is riveting,” she tells Mr. Hemmick in a gallant effort to change the subject, “wait until you hear the tales pertaining to Katelyn’s suitors and their endeavors at winning her heart.”

Mr. Aaron, who previously appeared bored with the conversation, snaps to attention.

“Dan,” Katelyn reproaches, tugging on Dan’s sleeve, but she doesn’t seem to truly mind the divulgence. Even Mr. Wymack snorts, shaking his head at the mention of Katelyn’s eccentric suitors.

“Ah, yes,” Matt says with a sage nod. “One of the more memorable men wrote and sent her verses every day for the duration of a month.”

“And that put paid to it,” Neil interjects, saving Katelyn some embarrassment. “I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?”

Mr. Andrew, who had been disengaged throughout the entire evening, meets Neil’s eyes. Tonelessly, he asks, “I thought that poetry was the food of love?”

Everybody turns their gaze towards him, before turning towards Neil in anticipation of his answer.

Neil’s lips twitch. “Of a fine, stout love it may be, but if it is only a vague inclination, I’m convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.”

“So what do you recommend,” Mr. Andrew asks, “to encourage affection?”

Neil holds Mr. Andrew’s stoic gaze. 

“Dancing,” he answers, wearing a sharp smile. “Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”

The muscles in his jaw tensing, Mr. Andrew tears his gaze away from Neil.

Neil considers it an accomplishment.

*

“Does this mean you plan on marrying him?”

Katelyn pinches Robin’s toe, her pink cheeks obvious even in the candle light. “I simply said I liked him, that’s all. He’s sensible, a little awkward, yes, but he is also clever -”

“And conveniently rich,” Neil cuts in from where he is perched on the seat by the window.

Breaking into a smile, Katelyn rolls her eyes. “You know perfectly well that I don’t believe that a lot of money is a requirement for a happy marriage.”

“And I agree entirely with that sentiment,” Neil says. “Only the deepest love could ever possibly persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will end up alone until the day I die. But I will have Matt and Dan’s ten offspring - and probably yours too - to accompany me. I can teach them how to paint well and play the piano very ill.”

“You and your dramatics,” Katelyn says with a fond sigh.

“But it isn’t a bad thing, is it?” Robin wonders, laying on her back on Neil’s bed and staring up at the ceiling. “To spend your life being single?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Katelyn assures, leaning back on her hand.

“You shouldn’t have to feel pressured into choosing a spouse just because some people say marriage is a prerequisite for happiness,” Neil says. “Romance is overrated, anyway.”

“I quite like the idea of romance,” Robin admits, twisting a strand of her black hair around her finger, “but I don’t know if marriage is something I would like to pursue.”

“You are yet to be sixteen,” Katelyn says. “You have the rest of your life to weigh in on the subject of marriage.”

“The butcher’s daughter, on the other hand -” Neil begins, and Robin squawks, throwing a pillow at him. Neil catches it, laughing. “I was only saying that I don’t know enough to make a judgement about her feelings, but I do know that Mr. Aaron is deeply infatuated with Katelyn.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Katelyn says, fussing with the bed linen. She looks at her lap, then at Neil through her bangs. “Do you really believe he likes me, Neil?”

“Katelyn,” Neil says flatly, “he danced with you most of the night and stared at you for the rest of it.”

Robin cups a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle. Katelyn pinches her toe again.

“But I suppose we could give you leave to like him,” Neil continues, flicking his hand in the air. “You’ve liked many a stupider person.”

“You have the tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt, and you also like them too easily, you know,” Robin chips in, rolling onto her stomach. “Most of the world is good and agreeable in your eyes.”

At her siblings’ teasing remarks, Katelyn gives a small shake of her head, but she doesn’t dispute them. “Not Mr. Aaron’s brother, though.” She picks up Neil’s other pillow and wraps her arms around it. “I still can’t believe what he said about you.”

Neil clicks his tongue in thought. “Mr. Andrew?” He fluffs up the pillow Robin threw at him and places it behind him so he can lean back comfortably. “I could more easily forgive his vanity if he had not wounded mine.”

A furrow appears between Katelyn’s eyebrows, but she only pats Robin’s leg and gets to her feet. “Well, I suppose we should return to our room now. It is getting late.”

At his bedroom door, Neil catches Katelyn’s hand. “You should focus on Mr. Aaron and not worry about Mr. Andrew and me,” he whispers, careful of his volume so as to not wake their father, whose room is across from his.

“But if he makes you irritated –”

“Hardly. Besides,” he says, giving her a wry half-smile, “I doubt we shall ever speak again.”

*

Katelyn’s fingers move dexterously over the piano keys, the dining room filled with the sound of her mellifluous playing. Robin would have sung along to the music if she isn’t too busy stuffing her face with the freshly baked bread rolls Matt just ferried in from the kitchen.

“Katelyn,” Mr. Wymack says without looking up from his morning newspaper, “eat your breakfast before your siblings wolf everything down their gullets.”

“That is very rude,” Dan reprimands around a mouthful of sausage. “We would have left her some crumbs, at the very least.”

Katelyn laughs and does as told, taking a seat beside Neil at the dining table.

“Who wouldn’t be this ravenous,” Neil muses, “after spending one whole evening dancing and making pleasantries?”

Matt gleefully agrees. “Oh, yes. Especially our young maidens here – I hope your feet are not too sore this morning.”

Robin chucks a wadded napkin at him.

“In all honesty,” Matt says through his chuckle, “I do hope that we’ll be seeing more of Mr. Aaron, if you truly are taken with him, Katelyn.”

“Must we begin the teasing quite so early in the morning?” Katelyn says, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I’m not teasing you,” Matt says earnestly, a palm pressed to his heart.

“I am,” Neil quips, neatly evading Katelyn’s kick to his foot. “If the gentleman does not extend an invitation to ask that you call on him soon, then all hope for humanity is lost.”

A skeptical grunt is heard from behind Mr. Wymack’s newspaper.

“Hear, hear,” Dan says, with a toast of her cup of tea.

Their farmhand – the only helper they have on their land aside from their housemaid – tumbles through the back door, quietly greeting them a good morning. Holding out a letter towards Mr. Wymack, he says, “A letter addressed to Miss Katelyn, sir, from Foxhole Park.”

Everybody falls silent.

Slowly lowering his newspaper, Mr. Wymack takes the proffered letter and passes it to an equally stunned Katelyn. The farmhand exits the house. Outside, their rooster crows. There is the flap of wings, followed by the cantankerous honk of a goose. 

“Neil,” Matt exhales, breaking the silence in the dining room, “you beautiful talented sorcerer. Do you know how much I worship you?”

“Do you possess some sort of psychic abilities that we do not know of?” Robin asks, eyes blown wide.

“Did you make a deal with the devil?” Dan asks, mouth shaped into bewildered amusement.

“Yes,” Neil answers them, taking a prim sip of his tea.

“What does the letter say?” their father asks, his dark eyebrows furrowed.

Katelyn tries to appear collected, but Neil can see the way her hands tremble as she opens the letter and reads it.

“It is from Mr. Hemmick,” she reports, a smile painted over her lips. “He has invited me to dine with him.” The smile gradually disappears as she announces the next piece of news: “His cousins will be dining out with Mr. Day.”

“Dining out?” Dan inquires. She asks to see the letter, lips pursed in consternation as she reads it.

“Has the carriage been fixed yet?” Neil asks Matt.

Upon returning from a ball about a moon ago, one of the wheels on their family carriage broke apart as if suffering from an internal rupture. They have mostly walked or rode their horses for the past few weeks, since the carriage has yet to be repaired. Neil finds that he doesn’t mind it in the least, since he is very fond of walking.

“No,” Matt responds, “the wheelwright has yet to recover from his bout of chickenpox.”

“You would have to go on horseback, I’m afraid,” Dan says with a wince.

They all turn their heads toward the windows, where they can see the gathering black clouds. A crack of lightning splinters through the reef of darkness. Their father quietly curses.

*

“I suppose she will have to stay the night,” Dan frets, chewing on her fingernail as she watches the spray of rain against the windows in their drawing room.

Matt walks over to her, tenderly taking her hand from her mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sure Katelyn will be all right. Mr. Aaron will ensure that she will be comfortable during her stay. And spending more time together will not hurt her chances with him in the least, so let us think about this in a positive light.”

Dan sighs, conceding to the point. “Perhaps you’re right.”

In the flickering candle light, Neil continues to draw his sister and brother-in-law, scattered sketches on a page that focus on their facial expressions and their postures.

“Perhaps I should go check on the pigs,” Dan declares, a determined set to her eyes and mouth.

“In this weather?” their father says from his armchair. “I think not.”

Letting out a puff of air in annoyance and defeat, Dan stalks over to Mr. Wymack and snatches his pipe out of his hand. “If I am barred from going out, then you are barred from smoking indoors.” 

Neil suppresses his smile when he hears Mr. Wymack grumbling about having his pipe confiscated. Matt returns to Robin’s side on the couch, resuming his sewing and demonstrating his extensive embroidery skills. Robin is learning from him, hoping to impress any prospective beaus.

After pacing around the room, Dan finally calms down enough to plop into the chair opposite the couch and pick up a book from the side table. 

Neil begins sketching the flame of the candle next, quietly content to sit among his family, the sound of the rain cocooning him in a cloak of comfort. 

They retire to their bedrooms some time later, the candles in the house blown out. Neil clambers into bed but doesn’t go to sleep immediately, choosing instead to read so that he can enjoy the patter of the rain for longer.

He wakes up the next morning feeling well-rested despite falling asleep later than usual, and it puts him in a good mood until he comes down for breakfast. 

Mr. Wymack is standing at the foot of the stairs, a letter in his hands. He turns when he hears Neil descending, his stern expression made harsher by the grim concern lining his mouth.

“From Katelyn,” he says, passing the letter to Neil.

It is addressed to Neil, and he tears it open and quickly reads it.

“She has fallen ill due to the rain,” he informs his father. “’My friends will not hear of me returning home until I am better’,” he reads aloud. “’Do not be alarmed. Excepting a sore throat, a fever, and a headache, there is nothing much wrong with me’.”

Neil’s fingers curl around the edge of the letter, crumpling it.

“She is beginning to sound like you,” Mr. Wymack remarks, pulling out his pipe and inspecting it. “Always insisting that everything is alright when it is not.”

“Father,” Neil says, a tad testily, “this is not the time to be making sardonic remarks.”

“I suppose not.” Mr. Wymack sighs, massaging his temple with a thumb. He looks old and weary. “We should have not let her go yesterday.”

“No use crying over spilt milk.” Neil stuffs the letter in his pocket, feeling resolute. “I must go to Foxhole Park at once.”

*

It takes Neil half the morning to get to his destination.

His boots are caked in mud when he arrives at the ornate front door to Foxhole Park, and he reckons that his hair is in a tousled and unseemly state. Traversing through the muddy fields and hills had been worth it, however; he will get to see Katelyn soon, and he has always enjoyed the exertion of exercising and the rejuvenation it provides.

A footman greets him at the door and guides him through the lavishly decorated halls before bringing him to a dining room.

“Mr. Neil Josten,” the footman announces as Neil walks through the door. 

At a round dining table, Mr. Hemmick hurriedly gets to his feet, Mr. Day following suit. Between them, Mr. Andrew remains in his seat and stares at Neil, the hand holding his cup of tea frozen half-way to his mouth as if he has been caught unawares.

“Mr. Josten!” Mr. Hemmick exclaims with rapture. “It is so good to see you!”

“Did you walk here?” Mr. Day asks incredulously, scrutinizing Neil from head to toe.

“I did,” Neil answers coolly. 

“Goodness,” Mr. Hemmick says, a hand pressed to his collarbones. “I hope the walk didn’t enervate you too much.”

“Not at all,” Neil assures, keeping up with the pleasantries even though his patience is wearing thin.

“I must say that the exercise has done wonders to your complexion! Not that your features aren’t already striking as they were,” Mr. Hemmick gushes, hands fluttering about his own face. His exuberance dwindles when Neil remains blank-faced and unresponsive.

“It has added a beautiful vibrance to your cheeks,” Mr. Hemmick adds weakly, shoulders wilting.

The room descends into silence.

“I’m sorry, but how is my sister?” Neil asks. He has never been one for beating around the bush, and he has entertained the gentlemen long enough with the small talk.

“She is upstairs,” Mr. Andrew says.

Neil narrows his eyes a little, not expecting the answer to be supplied by Mr. Andrew.

“Thank you,” he says, an automatic response more than anything. With a curt incline of his head, he excuses himself from the room. The same footman from before leads him to the room where his sister is, up on the second floor. 

He finds Mr. Aaron in the large bedroom, sitting on an armchair near the bed with a book in his hands. His head whips up towards the door when Neil enters without ceremony.

“Mr. Josten,” Mr. Aaron says, blinking twice, before his face imbues itself with a business-like quality. He raises to his feet, back ramrod straight.

On the bed, Katelyn raises her head from the pillow, a wan smile on her pallid face.

“Neil,” she says in a hoarse voice.

Neil breathes out a sigh of relief, striding towards the bed and sitting beside her prone form. Gently taking her hand in his, he says, “You had me very worried.”

“You need not have worried at all,” Katelyn says, before she coughs into her palm.

Neil sends her a pointed look, before turning towards their spectator.

“Mr. Aaron,” he says, “thank you for tending to my sister so diligently. She is in far better comfort here than she would have been at home.”

Which is not exactly a lie; Katelyn shares a room with Robin at home, so having an entire bedroom - an opulent bedroom with an opulent bed - to herself while she recuperates is certainly a benefit, but Neil does wonder if staying at a place that is not your own could provide as much solace. 

He would probably never have been able to let his guard down, if he were in Katelyn’s position. Additionally, being in such a vulnerable state would have been enough motivation for him to flee from the house, regardless of how comfortable and luxurious the bed is. 

Hesitantly, Mr. Aaron steps closer. “It’s no problem at all. In fact, it’s been a pleasure.”

Neil arches an eyebrow at this.

“I mean, it’s not a pleasure that she is ill,” Mr. Aaron corrects, sober expression disintegrated by a glimmer of panic, “of course not.” He swallows, gaze flitting about the room before landing on Katelyn’s face. “I meant that it’s a pleasure she is here, being ill.”

Neil catches his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself from spilling out a laugh. 

Mr. Aaron clears his throat, trying to collect himself by forcing a frown between his brows. “I shall give you two some space,” he says, before rushing out of the room.

“I don’t know who is more pleased at you being here – Matt or Mr. Aaron,” Neil muses derisively. 

The phantom of a smile passes through Katelyn’s lips. “I feel like such a terrible imposition,” she mumbles, eyelids drooping.

“Don’t worry about that,” Neil says quietly, brushing Katelyn’s bangs from her eyes. Her forehead is slightly clammy with sweat, but she does not feel hot and feverish. “Just rest and focus on getting better.”

Katelyn squeezes his fingers before succumbing to sleep.

*

After Katelyn falls asleep and a maid comes in to change the water basin, Neil expends some effort into shaping his hair into a stately appearance, combing it with his fingers. When he deems it acceptable enough, he wanders through the second floor in search of something to do, bumping into Mr. Hemmick in the process.

“I’ll show you to the library,” Mr. Hemmick offers, enthusiastic about giving Neil a tour of the house before actually escorting him to the library.

“They’re mostly Kevin’s books,” he tells Neil. “He would have brought his entire collection if he had his way.”

“He should have just stayed in town if he found it so difficult to part with his books,” Neil comments, running his fingers over the book spines. Mr. Hemmick laughs, not at all offended by Neil’s incisiveness. Neil chooses one title from the shelves, flipping through the pages to check if the contents would catch his interest.

“He probably should have,” Mr. Hemmick says, dropping into a chair and swinging his legs about. “But he was rather emphatic in his decision to come here. The reason for his insistence remains obscure to all of us.”

“Maybe he enjoys the countryside,” Neil suggests dryly.

“I know I do,” Mr. Hemmick says effusively. “The mountains in Palmetto are simply breathtaking.”

Neil feels a smile curling up the corner of his lips. Mr. Hemmick’s earnest fondness for their town is almost enough reason for Neil to overcome his dislike of the bourgeoisie.

“And the rest of you?” he asks. “Why did you decide to come here?”

The word on the street is that their design in settling here is to select a spouse. But Mr. Hemmick is already married, and Mr. Day and Mr. Andrew did not seem keen to form new acquaintances at the town ball, nor are their dispositions particularly suited to maintain any such relationships. Mr. Aaron might have softened and opened up like a ripe fruit around Katelyn, but he also does not seem fain to act civilly with anybody who isn’t her. 

Mr. Hemmick cranes his neck and scans the library as if to ensure that they are alone. Then he lowers his voice and says, “Aaron wants to have a house of his own. He is considering the option of purchasing this land, but I think Andrew is not very happy about it.”

Neil finds it hard to imagine that Mr. Andrew can be happy about _anything,_ but it isn’t his place to judge. He does have to admit, however, that his interest is piqued. 

“Did the two of them have a fall out?”

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Hemmick answers, frowning, seeming genuinely unhappy about it. “I think they had an argument, but I don’t know the details. It pains me, not knowing how to help them.”

Neil shifts from one foot to the other, slightly uncomfortable of Mr. Hemmick’s veracity. They are, after all, merely acquaintances. But Mr. Hemmick is a cordial person - albeit a little too jolly for Neil - and he feels like he should offer some words of comfort. 

So he says, “They are grown men. It is not your responsibility to help them if they do not allow you to.”

Mr. Hemmick blinks as is surprised, then smiles sadly. “You’re right. I do wish they would allow me, though.” 

After Neil selects a book, Mr. Hemmick practically marches him back downstairs on the insistence that he mingle with the rest of the residents.

“Your sister is well-looked after by our staff,” Mr. Hemmick says, trying to cajole him with the assurance. “You need not be concerned about leaving her for a while.”

Neil sighs and relents. Mr. Hemmick whoops and brays.

They find the other gentlemen in one of the parlors, sunlight streaming unhindered through the wide, tall windows.

Mr. Aaron is on a Chesterfield sofa, nose buried in a book. At a polished desk near the windows, Mr. Andrew is drafting a letter while Mr. Day religiously criticizes his writing.

“You aren’t even holding the quill correctly, which compounds the illegibility of your scrawl.” Mr. Day looms over Mr. Andrew and wags a finger in front of his face. “Are you listening to me, Andrew?”

“At this point, I’m sure the whole countryside can hear your rambling lectures, Kevin,” Mr. Aaron drawls without looking up from his book. 

Snorting, Mr. Hemmick sinks down on the cushions next to his cousin. “Really, Kevin, you mustn't bother Andrew when he’s writing to his mother. Besides, she probably appreciates Andrew’s handwriting, even if _you_ don’t.” 

“The handwriting isn’t the only problem,” Mr. Day gripes, glaring at Mr. Andrew. “It is also the content of the letter that offends me.”

“Then perhaps you should settle your gaze elsewhere,” Mr. Andrew suggests blandly.

“I would if you were not attempting to spread slander about me!”

“Andrew is writing about you?” Mr. Hemmick grins. “Then you should count yourself lucky to be deemed interesting enough for him to mention to Lady Dobson.”

Peeved, Mr. Day throws his hands up in the air and makes a disgruntled noise. Then he resumes his critique of Mr. Andrew’s penmanship.

Neil takes a seat on the divan across from Mr. Aaron and Mr. Hemmick and tunes all of them out, cracking his book open to begin reading. His peace, however, is short-lived; Mr. Day, sensing that his expertise is wasted on the mostly-uncommunicative Mr. Andrew, spins around on Neil. 

“Is that one of my books?” he inquires, peering down at Neil.

“I believe so,” Neil answers succinctly, flipping to the next page. He fervently wishes that this would be the end of the conversation, but he has never been that lucky. 

“Have you ever read it before?” Mr. Day presses on. “It is a literary classic.”

“I’ve never had the opportunity, no.”

The lines on Mr. Day’s face deepen and contort his features into a judgmental scowl. “What have you been doing your whole life? And don’t turn the pages so brutishly.”

Internally, Neil counts from 1 to 10 in German, then in French. 

To Mr. Day, he calmly says, “This might be news to you, but reading is a luxury that some people cannot afford. While you were receiving daily lessons from your private tutors and governesses, some of us had to worry about where our next meal would come from. Different people were born into different circumstances. Given your pompous and righteous demeanor, I suppose I can’t fault you if you aren’t aware of this type of plight.”

Blinking rapidly, Mr. Day opens and closes his mouth, looking very much like a fish out of water. Out of the corner of his eye, Neil notices Mr. Andrew glancing over his shoulder in their direction, his quill stilling over his letter. 

Mr. Hemmick’s jaw drops, but his eyes are filled with stunned admiration and gaiety. Then he guffaws and smacks his knee, almost drowning out Mr. Day’s rebuttal. 

“O-of course I’m aware. Who do you take me for?” He sticks a finger into his collar and clears his throat, eyes roaming all over the room like he’s uncomfortable. “You are free to borrow any book from my collection. I don’t mind.”

“How very generous of you,” Neil says, going back to the book. 

“Oh, Mr. Josten,” Mr. Hemmick says between wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. “I am so pleased by your presence. I have never seen Kevin so taken aback before.” 

Even Mr. Aaron looks impressed. Mr. Day defends himself, claiming that he was not taken aback at all. Then he says, “It is always good to read when you can. It develops the mind and introduces you to multitudes of perspectives.”

“But you cannot always expect to earn experiences through books alone,” Neil says distractedly. 

“Learning how to paint, ride, and play instruments should buttress those gaps,” Mr. Day replies, serious as a funeral. “It would also do you good to know different languages.”

“And to know how to sing!” Mr. Hemmick trills.

Mr. Day nods. “Only then could you consider yourself to be truly accomplished.”

“Is that so?” Neil asks, his flat tone making it abundantly clear that he is not at all invested in the answer.

“Do you not think that all those qualities make a person meritorious and desirable?”

Mr. Andrew’s question robs Neil’s attention from his book. He closes his book with a decisive thud and swivels his gaze towards Mr. Andrew. 

“It may be so that having all those skills could make a person meritorious, but it would be a folly to say that being meritorious is synonymous with being desirable.”

“You render a severe judgment on what society has deemed as one of the fundamentals of attraction.”

“I do not care for what society thinks. If wanting to look beyond superficial qualities is severe, then so be it. What is the point of having a well-educated and accomplished partner if they do not even respect your opinions and wishes? If they do not understand you or your differences?” Neil lifts his chin a little, giving Mr. Andrew a cool and challenging look. “Do you not think that all those qualities make a person meritorious and desirable, Mr. Andrew?”

Mr. Andrew’s expression remains impassive, but Neil notices his knuckles turning white from gripping the quill too hard. 

“You certainly have a way with words, Mr. Josten,” Mr. Hemmick says with a nervous laugh, glancing between his cousin and Neil. “Shall we take a turn about the room? It would be more refreshing than sitting in one altitude for an extended period of time.” 

“Perhaps later,” Neil answers, shifting his gaze back to his own book. “I have seen quite enough of the room.”

“I- I see,” Mr. Hemmick says. Neil hears him gasp and then exclaim, “Andrew! The quill!”

Mr. Day joins in with a livid, “You broke my best writing quill!”

Neil tries to block them all out, but in the end, he doesn’t get a lot of reading done.

*

Their family arrives early the next day. Neil skips breakfast with their hosts to have a simple meal in the bedroom with Katelyn instead. She is feeling much better now, she insists, as she sips her tea while Neil brushes her hair and tries to untangle all the knots that have accumulated during her bedrest. 

By the time he leaves Katelyn so she can take a bath and get dressed, his family members - barring Mr. Wymack - are all seated in the drawing room, chatting with Mr. Hemmick. Mr. Day and the twins are also in the room, but consistent with their characters, they’re merely standing off to one side without contributing to the conversation.

“You’re all… here,” Neil says when he enters the room, keeping his expression and voice neutral.

“Yes,” Dan says. “We were all worried about Katelyn’s ailment, and we thought that we could come and pick you both up.”

“The carriage has been fixed,” Matt reports from beside her, grinning. 

“But Neil would not have minded the walk, I’m sure, even though it’s so far away,” Robin says from beside him, a note of mischief in her tone. “He’s such an alien.”

“An enchanting alien, mind you,” Matt adds, grinning even more widely. 

Neil barely wrestles back an eye-roll. 

Good-naturedly, Mr. Hemmick laughs. “It’s good to keep one’s body active, yes? Though I’m not one for strenuous outdoor activities myself.”

“Taking long walks is hardly strenuous,” Mr. Day chimes in. “You should really invest more effort in exercising, Nicky. A sedentary routine is going to cut your life short.”

“Only if I die, though.”

“Yes, that is what cutting your life short means.”

“But I dislike exercising,” Mr. Hemmick whines. 

“I remember you saying that you enjoy dancing, Mr. Hemmick,” Dan says. “Surely dancing could constitute a form of exercise?”

“True.” Mr. Hemmick rubs his chin as if he is in great deliberation. “You make a compelling argument, Mrs. Boyd-Wilds.” 

“Perhaps you could hold a ball,” Robin suggests with a faux innocent smile. 

“Robin,” Neil and Dan warn in unison. Dan is probably chiding Robin for being impolite; Neil just wants to prevent their family from having to interact with the gentlemen any more than necessary. Of course, he might not have much of a choice if things between Katelyn and Mr. Aaron go smoothly, but he’ll deal with that bridge only when he gets to it, and not a moment sooner. 

Surely there are other ways to handle a bridge other than to cross or burn it.

“A ball!” Mr. Hemmick repeats enthusiastically, already on-board with the idea. “What do you boys think?”

At this question, Mr. Andrew continues to stare into the far wall while Mr. Aaron’s mouth twists in disdain. 

“Katelyn does love dancing,” Robin says, tilting her head to the side in mock-contemplation. “It’s too bad she doesn’t get as many opportunities as she would like to dance. Don’t you agree, Matthew?”

Matt nods solemnly, like he is about to deliver a matter of great import. “I absolutely agree, Robin.”

Neil is going to wring their necks if Dan doesn’t get to them first. 

Sounding like he has stones in his mouth, Mr. Aaron says, “I suppose we could hold a… ball.”

“Well!” Mr. Hemmick claps his hands once, smiling from ear to ear. “If Andrew doesn’t have anything against the idea, we shall hold a ball as soon as your sister has fully recovered.” Then, a little anxiously, he looks at Mr. Andrew and asks, “You’re fine with us holding a ball, aren’t you, Andrew?”

Everybody in the room seems to collectively hold their breath. Neil watches Mr. Andrew very carefully, but doesn’t detect anything other than utter indifference from his face. 

After a while, Mr. Andrew answers the question with a simple flick of his fingers. 

Mr. Hemmick breathes out in relief. “It seems like everyone is in support of the idea. You can name the date, Ms. Cross, if you would like.”

“Mr. Hemmick,” Dan intervenes, “that is very generous of you. _Too_ generous, in fact.” She slides a baleful glance at Robin and Matt. “I really don’t know how to thank you.” 

Mr. Hemmick waves this away. “Think nothing of it. I am always happy to host parties, and even much happier to attend them.” He winks at Robin, who has to cover her mouth to stop herself from busting out a laugh. 

Neil feels like he is going to acquire a headache from how hard he is wrestling back an eye-roll.

Mr. Hemmick invites them all to stay for lunch, but Neil puts his feet down and insists that they have imposed on them for long enough. 

“I really don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he says when they are about ready to depart.

Mr. Hemmick lightly swats Neil on the arm. “Oh, Mr. Josten, you’re welcome to overstay any time you want. You are a balm to my eyes and heart.”

His fingers linger near Neil’s elbow, and Neil doesn’t shake him off only because he has been an accommodating and amiable host, especially when compared to the rest of his company. 

“It must be very hard for you,” Neil says, aiming for empathetic and gentle but probably falling short, “to be away from your husband.”

“It is.” Mr. Hemmick’s eyes are glassy with tears as he gives Neil’s arm a squeeze, which makes Neil distinctly uncomfortable due to the emotional vulnerability and physical contact.

“Nicky.”

One word from Mr. Andrew and Mr. Hemmick immediately leaps away from Neil. 

“Andrew!” Mr. Hemmick raises his hands as if he had done an indelible error and has to now prove his innocence. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

Mr. Andrew pins him with a long stare. After wiping his eyes, Mr. Hemmick flails his hands about, hastily saying, “I’m just escorting Mr. Josten to the carriage. I think they’re bringing it around now.” He whips around to Neil. “Mr. Josten, shall we?”

Neil studies Mr. Andrew for a beat longer, then nods perfunctorily at him in goodbye before trailing after Mr. Hemmick. Down the stone steps of the front door, they all exchange farewells. Matt helps Dan and Robin step onto the carriage before heaving himself up at the front. 

“Mr. Aaron,” Katelyn says, hands folded in front of her, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Do not mention it,” Mr. Aaron says, his ears red. He gives her a small but genuine smile. “You’re welcome any time you feel the least bit poorly.”

Katelyn smiles back at him, resplendent and uninhibited. Aaron Minyard looks like he really might have a solid chance. Neil bites back a sigh.

Mr. Aaron helps Katelyn onto the carriage while Neil nods goodbye at Mr. Hemmick and Mr. Day. Robin whispers something in Katelyn’s ear, then laughs as Katelyn gives her a small shove. The carriage rocks just as Neil climbs onto it, which causes him to lose his footing. 

A hand catches his own. 

It’s Mr. Andrew, and he lets go of Neil’s hand as soon as Neil regains his balance. Mr. Andrew meets his eyes for a fleeting moment, then turns away and trudges back towards the house, as if he can’t bear to look at Neil for a second longer.

That’s perfectly fine with Neil. He is, after all, barely tolerable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words: “I doubt we shall ever speak again.”
> 
> And Andrew was totally getting a feel for Neil's views and testing him when he brought up the whole 'what society thinks' conversation. He ended up playing himself because Neil's answer got him real good lmao.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com).


End file.
